Sustenance secreted by a body for another, cultivated and reduced by craft to the perfection of elementary things, it has an odor as blandly sweet as its flavor, as blank as its color, as soft and rich as the touch of it. Cream is like itself across its several attributes, similarly to how water relates to its transparency, stones to their stillness, etc. It seems false that something so thoroughly spherical should also be so thoroughly the product of the convolutions of a few middling layers of organic life. Cream has the dignity of air, death, and the sun, yet is marked by the corruption proper to flesh.
The artists and writers in this issue bring such distinct takes on the theme to their translations of each other’s work, and yet certain patterns form like milk skin on the issue’s surface.